All That's Left
by Watertreker568
Summary: During the year that never was, more happens than you would expect. Not only to Jack but also to his team, and a stranger that shows up in the middle of the night. Rated T, slight Ianto/OC, Jack/Ianto, Gwen bashing on behalf of OC.
1. A Captain Screams

All That's Left

A Captain Screams

I shrieked, forcing myself not to beg for him to stop, because he would never, never stop until he had everything he wanted. And I had learned in the past month, the last four weeks, the past 31 days – the past 744.1 hours, 44646.5 minutes, 2678795 seconds – he would never be able to get what he wanted. There was nothing I could do to ever make him stop. I swallowed what little I could of my tears, nausea barely able to be contained in my chest as I fixed my gaze at the steel, radiating wall across from me, rather than on the owner of the voice that now taunted me.

"Jacky, Jacky, Jacky." The Master laughed, reaching up to touch me again. I ground my teeth, locking my features in a perfect mask of loathing. My muscles froze, disgust bleeding through my every pore and seam as he grinned, his fingers sliding over my face. Then, he paused, the smile falling from his features. He glared, curling his fingers into enraged claws and dragging his nails across my skin. I hardly winced when his fingernails slit through my skin, leaving a bloody line across the side of my face.

"I don't know why I don't just kill you." He growled, now angered at my rejection of him. I swallowed, my eyes lingering on a blood stain just below my eye level. My blood stain, actually. "You're no more useful to me alive than you are dead."

"Because I'm more fun when I'm alive so I can shriek." I muttered, finally allowing my sore eyes to rest on him. The Master backed away a few feet, smirking like he had just learned exactly what kept humanity fighting him. My heart pounded, as he reached into his pocket, withdrawing the one device that anyone could grow to hate. His version of the one thing that drove me insane about the Doctor, but at the same time – the same agonizing, horrifying time – made me love him.

"You're right." The Master grinned, changing the settings I knew I would learn. I blinked, rolling my shoulders as he leveled the weapon with my chained torso. "So scream. Jack, SCREAM, like your little precious Doctor can hear you."

I shuddered, feeling another of my bones melt within my skin. So, reluctantly – thankfully, desperately – I screamed, hearing the voices of everyone who had ever looked at me as a miracle ring through my head.

Captain Jack Harkness screamed.

* * *

><p>Ianto moaned, grimacing as he pressed his shoulders back into the stiff, bumping surface of the truck bed. It had been a hard month. First the bogus call-out to China right after Jack disappeared, and then the Toclophane – damn, the four of them were lucky to be alive still.<p>

"Ianto." Gwen whispered to him, gently brushing his hair back from his face. Immediately, his hand shot up, catching her wrist and pulling it away from his face. There was still an open wound of abandonment left in him from where Jack had used to live. She sighed, lowering her hand down to her side. "We're here."

Ianto snapped upright, his eyes wide. He didn't speak, only standing – amazingly steadily for the fact that the Jeep they had been riding in for the past fourteen hours hadn't bothered to stop at the city limits. He leaned out of the back, allowing himself a small smile as his eyes gulped in the sights before him. After over three weeks of secretive, hesitant travel, they were back in Cardiff. Ianto sighed. They were finally home.

* * *

><p>In the middle of some barren street in central Utah, the air quivered, then snapped back into place. In the exact center of where the disturbance had been a moment before now stood a figure. The stranger smiled, allowing their eyes to meander along the barren sidewalks. Heavy, black combat boots stepped briskly forward, hardly making any sound in the sleeping town. A smear of dried, flaking red glimmered slightly in the night, and any watching would have no doubt it was blood. Thick, black denim wrapped around the newcomers legs, rustling softly as they turned in their place, arms open to the sky. Two unequal chains dangled around the torn legs of their jeans, clearly an attempt to hide how abnormally thin their figure was for the surprising amount of muscle which barely managed to cling to their bones. They rolled their shoulders, now staring intently up at the moon above them.<p>

Abused denim hung from the person's shoulders, clearly masculine and still inhumanly thin. His vest swayed open in the breeze, revealing the rest of his upper body as he spread his arms out to either side of him. Deep, blood red fabric encased the man's entire torso, hiding any scars that might be visible from wrist to collarbone. And there were a lot of them. A set of ancient dog tags dangled from around his throat, clinking together with a simple cross charm, and one other object. A single 44 caliber bullet swayed alongside the identification cards, an even more obvious clue to his identity than the name on the metal plates. Anyone watching the young man in the street might think him mad, or in the midst of some pagan ritual. But they would be immediately proven wrong as he began to laugh.

The midnight rays glinted through his hair, and he grinned, running his fingers through the uneven filaments. He shook his head, allowing half his face to be covered by the thin, raven strands. And yet, with his unearthly, glowing crimson eyes, he continued to gaze up at the silvery sphere in the sky.

'_I made it.'_ The young man thought, paying no attention to the rest of the world. Then, he laughed out loud, a dark, discordant sound – like an instrument that hadn't had reason to be tuned for years before a big performance.

"Damn it, I actually made it." The man sighed, glancing lustily once more at the moon. He smirked, his hands finding their way to his hips. His fingers brushed over the object at his waist, transforming his delight into a grimace. He reluctantly pulled out the sidearm, checking that it had survived the journey. And such a long journey it had been, to get him to this point – to give him this much excitement. Now he had a job to do. The first thing he had been charged with was to find him, and the next was to drag him back. He didn't intend to fail. HE couldn't fail – only humans failed at such a simple task.

His simple, beaten solid black rucksack hung loosely from one shoulder, as he passed an alley in his silent strides. Wide eyes, a young woman watched as he passed, praying not even to breathe. Suddenly, her hold on the garbage can in front of her slipped, resulting in the quietest of sounds. Immediately, the stranger spun around, his sidearm leveled with her eyes. He had no time to spend with curious townspeople. He had one mission, and his patience was being worn away by the girl, huddled in a corner of one of the town's alleys. He ground his teeth, his humanity getting the better of him. Grudgingly, he offered the terrified creature his hand, and yanking her to her trembling feet. As she gazed up into his unnatural eyes, his strangely ageless face, he could hear her young heart pounding. He sighed. It had been a long six months.


	2. Pain Goes Beyond Bleeding

All That's Left 2

AN: SORRY! I really didn't mean for this stupid thing to be this late, but here it is. I was sort – of, well, BANNED from computer until I finished a science project. I'll leave it at this: I HATE FREAKIN ICHTHYOSAURS AND IT IS A GOOD THING THEY'RE ALL DEAD! Sorry again to all you peoples who have actually been waiting for me to post this. (You all know who you are. I would kiss you, but that would be weird… so give yourself a cookie. And if you're cookie – allergic, then well… give yourself something else.)

Two comments before we start the story : One – I am planning on posting a new chapter every Thursday. If I'm a little late, or miss a week, please, don't go all 'mob with pitchforks' on me! And TWO: ** I will be moving this fan-fic to crossovers before next week. My friend posted it, and I was informed that since it's "The Year That Never Was", it should hence be in the "Doctor Who Torchwood Crossovers." So, be prepared for the changeover.

Anyways, enough of the dawdling…. Here's the chapter. Don't like, Don't read – Do like, REVIEW!

* * *

><p>Pain goes beyond bleeding<p>

I collapsed to the ground, my bonds finally released after hours of torture. Hollow, worthless sobs racked what remained of my body. I shuddered, forcing my weak, exhausted eyes to open. The Master grinned, kneeling down in front of me so I could see his smug, victorious glee. Without my ribcage there to contain my chest, my lungs expanded wider than they should have, straining the muscles that nature had intended to hold my organs in place. I swallowed, wincing as even such a simple action sent wracking waves of pain through me.

Suddenly, the Master laughed, reaching out to me. Meekly, I tried to push myself away, biting my lip to keep from screaming. He just laughed, enjoying my pain with unsympathetic relish. I shivered, as I struggled to curl myself into a smaller target. Noticing my torment, the Master pulled himself even closer to my debilitated form, his hand pausing just before coming into contact with my unsupported torso. I closed my eyes against the sensation of his hand sliding up, under the tattered remains of my shirt. I could feel the bastard grin, his fingers now tracing over the boneless flesh of my arm. Longing to cry out in pain, I found I was incapable of even opening my mouth – one of the first bones to have started to re-solidify after he was through with me. Unable to cry out or scream, I blinked, managing to control my empty cries into one sound. I whimpered, gazing up at his pleased, contented smile.

Then, I cried out, pressing my knees into my chest when my ribcage began to grow back, tearing through muscle and tissue in the way of it taking its original place in my body. I could feel it stabbing through my lungs, before they snapped back into place around my bones. Blood choked up my throat, leaking out of the side of my closed mouth. While I was still unable to speak, the Master sighed, brushing his vile fingers through my hair.

"Jack, Jack, Jack." He breathed, smiling down at me like he was an angel here to revoke my penance. But I knew better. I knew he was the exact opposite of an angle – he was the father of the devil. "Do you know exactly how many bones are in the human body?"

Now strong enough to move slightly, I nodded, cursing myself for being so obedient. Resistance was what I was supposed to be known for. Wasn't that what Ianto had always said: 'Captain Jack blatantly-stubborn Harkness. Torchwood three's pride and joy.'

"Well?" he asked playfully, twisting my hair in his fingers. "How many are there?" Although, I was sure he had known the answer long before I had even been born, he still asked.

"Two hundred…" I moaned, coughing up more of my own bodily fluids. "And eight."

"Very good." He grinned, yanking my head up to his. I winced, feeling the roost detach from my scalp. "Now, Jacky…" He cooed, and I could feel his other hand working around my waist. "How many of them do you think you've lost in the past," he glanced at his watch, still clean despite the amount of blood on his hands. "Four hours."

I groaned, allowing myself to collapse completely down. I had stopped caring about playing his little games after the first day. Besides, he was just trying to get me to remember – it wasn't like he could do much worse to me than I'd already been through. I rolled my shoulders, letting the new bone in my arm grow without skewering me. The Master sighed, leaning down so our faces were inches apart. If there had been anything in my stomach left for my gag reflex to spit out, I'm sure it would have.

"Come on Jack." He grinned, and I could feel his breath on my face. "How many did you lose?"

What was the point? I let my gaze travel around the room, trying to find something, anything to distract me. Finally, my eyes settled on a set of thin, African legs. Trish. She must have finally come for her shift. The Master said something else, but I was too busy focusing on Martha's sister. Did she know where her little sister was right now? Did anyone really know where she was? He grasped my shoulder, clamping down harder than necessary to get my attention. I still ignored him, instead planning on how I could distract myself. Maybe, if I could…

"Get her out of here." The Master snarled, pointing furiously at Trish, then to the guard standing behind him. The man hesitated, resulting in another enraged order from him. "NOW! Get her out of here!" The effect was instantaneous. Before my eyes, Trish was once more dragged out of the room, without so much as meeting my eyes. Once we were well and truly alone, I returned my attention to the maniac in front of me.

"You didn't have to do that." I whispered, that being all my voice was capable of. He smirked, dragging his fingers once more through my damp, messy hair.

"But now we're all alone." He breathed, making my heart pound. What did he mean by that, we're all alone? What was he going to do?

He noticed my look of terror, my shaking hands and staggered breathing. He smiled at me, wrapping his arm around my waist. Grasping my arm still tighter, he hauled me upright, sitting me back against the column behind me. I moaned, just letting my head roll back, making eye contact impossible.

"Jack," He groaned, drawing my face up to his. "Guess." Reluctantly, I shook my head. The Master beamed at me, before pulling my body to him. "What if I made it more…interesting? Would you guess?" He pouted, noticing how my eyes suddenly cut across the room, locking on the door. Nothing could make me play along with one of his sick games, and he knew it.

"What if I let you stay alive if you guess?" I shrugged. What did life still have left to offer me that he hadn't taken away, or made into some cruel game? "Alright then." He sighed. "How about, you guess how many bones you've lost out of 208," I swallowed, forcing myself to meet his eyes. He was up to something, I was sure of it. He grinned wider, pressing himself completely into the weak borders of my personal space. "And I will give you the potential for 208 hours without physical pain." I raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. "For every one off you are, you lose one hour out of the 208." I clenched my fists, snarling at myself internally. Two hundred and eight hours – over eight full days of no pain. It was so tempting, but I knew he was lying. He HAD to be lying. There was no way that The Master could survive without torture for a full week.

"When have I ever lied to you Jack?" He asked sweetly, tracing his thumb over my jawline. All the time. Nearly every single thing he had ever said to me had been a lie. Hell, one time he even told me he had found my Girlfriend, trying to make me disclose where my team was hiding. I sighed, figuring there wasn't much worse I could put myself through. I had died so many times; it stopped mattering to me what happened to cause them.

"Do repeats count?" I asked, glancing at him through one eye, lacking the strength to keep both open. He beamed, overjoyed by having swayed me to cooperate.

"Let's just say hypothetically, they do." I swallowed. He had to know I had counted. It was the only way I stayed sane, counting. Days, hours, minutes, seconds, weeks, deaths, bodies, pints of blood. I had counted them all so far. I closed my eyes, reveling in the welcome blankness. Then, I felt his fingers sliding up, over the bloodied skin of my chest. I shivered, reluctantly pulling my eyes open.

"A hundred," I coughed, making him pause, waiting for me to finish. "And seventy six."

"Aww, it was so close." He joked, pouting mournfully at me. "SO close."

"Oops." I muttered, knowing full well he hadn't counted. "Sorry."

"Aww, now that's just sad." He taunted, playing cute. "You don't have to be." To my disgust, he dragged his fingers around my chest, hooking them into the waistband of my jeans.

"So," I tried to start, before my lungs gagged on another billow of radiation filled air. "How many did you count?" Please, please let it not be just another one of his tricks. Please.

"I was thinking…" he hesitated, apparently counting something in his mind. "A hundred and ninety two. Though, I wasn't planning on just leaving you down here to rot that entire time." I swallowed. Damn it. I knew it had to be a trick. He was going to ignore it and cut me open again.

Immediately, when he started to pull the denim down, off my waist, my hand snapped up, weakly pushing his fingers off of me. I met his eyes, my hard, icy blue snapping to his evil, cruel muddy brown. He smirked, gently pulling my grasp from his wrist. I swallowed, trying to stop him, but there was just no energy left for me to push the other man off me.

"No." I growled, knowing the sound was weaker than I had intended it to be. Rather than listen to my desires, he grasped both my hands in his, dragging them down to the floor. He grinned at me, it becoming apparent that where other people got high off of having someone being willing, the only way for him to be turned on was for them to struggle. Because then, he could push them around until they behaved – which would often be never.

"Jack," he chastened, placing his hands on either side of my hips, while shoving my arms back against the column behind me. "Why are you being so reluctant?" I could feel his hands traveling over the sides of my legs, but I couldn't let myself think about it. No, there had to be something else he wanted – anything else he wanted. I had – no I refused to put myself through that again.

I ground my teeth, denying anything he said.

"Jack," he moaned seductively, drawing close enough to me to whisper in my ear. "I know you've wanted it. It's been more than a full month since you've had it." I swallowed, stubbornly fixing my gaze to the wall as far away from him as possible. How could he know the last time Ianto and I had been together was…

'_Before you left him.'_ A little, presumptuous voice in my mind sneered, not helped by the Master's legs over mine. _'You abandoned him, and brought this maniac the transportation he needed to get to the twenty-first century. You did this to yourself, captain Jack Harkness. You did this to the world.'_

"Jack, I know you need it." The Master sighed, brushing his face slightly through my hair. My throat started to close up, feeling him begin to pull the remains of my shirt off my chest. "I promised you that you wouldn't be in pain, so instead," he paused, pulling my face within inches of his. "I'm going to thrill you like you haven't in years."

I tried to struggle, to throw him off me, but I was just too weak. Faintly, I remembered having something pushed into my veins earlier today. Damn it, he had drugged me. That was why I was so tired and weak. I groaned, collapsing back as he slid my jeans open. I could feel the psycho grinning, as he placed himself fully on top of me.

"It won't hurt if you don't fight." He swore, smirking at me knowingly. I snarled, using what small reserves of energy I had left to shove him back. The Mater just smiled wider, leaning down to touch me. I shuddered, as he placed two, then three fingers on my lips, silencing me and any complaints I might have. "Shhh," he tried to sooth, opening his own shirt. "Jack, I know you'll like it." He slid still closer to me, muttering in my ear, "You always do."

I shivered, receding to the farthest reaches of my mind. I didn't want to have to remember what had happened that day. Though I knew he would certainly never forget what he did. No, he would remember it and smile – pleased with what he had done.

* * *

><p>Ianto grimaced, fighting to keep calm after the rest of the team set up their meager base camp. It was about five miles from where the hub … <em>Had<em> stood. Now, the building was falling apart. All of the technology and computers had been torn out of their base – like some kind of a medieval pillage had gone on there. The cells were all open, some still with the bodies of dead weevils in them. Even the Pterodactyl was gone, only to be found later, screeching out her despair at the eternally gloomy sky.

But that wasn't what had caused Ianto the most pain when they had finally managed to get themselves home. No, when they had gotten through searching the hub for anything that might possibly be considered useful or salvageable, he had not found one thing, and found a different thing instead. He wasn't quite sure which caused him the most pain.

When the young Britt had first stepped back into Torchwood three, there was one thing he had been hoping to see for over a month. He had wanted it, so badly, that he had almost tricked himself into believing it to be true.

He had expected to see Jack. Just, standing there – maybe even sitting in his office. He would grin at Ianto, then make some half-ass joke about the world finally ending when he left them for even a day. Or, he would just be sitting at his desk, waiting for them to get back. And Jack would hold Ianto to him, wrap him up in his big, strong arms as the younger man cried. He would hold him, tell him everything was going to be fine. He would have a plan, have some way of stopping this, and all he was waiting for was for Ianto to get back so he could close the rift knowing the junior agent was safe. And Ianto would wrap his arms around Jack's neck, and they would kiss, not caring if the entire world was watching them. Jack would just slide his arms around Ianto's waist, the smoothness of the movement always matching Jack himself – confident, supportive, sure of what he was. He would hold Ianto up, supporting him as he cried, but they would be tears of joy, because now Ianto had his lover back in his arms, and he was overjoyed. Jack would moan, dragging his tongue slowly, enticingly slowly over Ianto's teeth. Just like he always did: reminding him of what else they could do during the night, that day, the year, their whole lifetimes. He would hold Jack tighter than he ever had before, not letting him leave him for even a second, because then he would be letting Jack go again – he would be letting Jack leave him again. He never wanted to do that again. He never wanted to have to say hello to Jack, because that would mean that they had somehow lost contact at some time during the day. If he started to fall, Jack would pick him up, carry him without hesitating. Everyone else would leave, not caring to stay and interfere with their time together. Jack would lift Ianto up, bringing him downstairs. He would place Ianto on the bed, before climbing on after him, smiling at his chance to make up for leaving Ianto all alone for so long. He didn't want to live without knowing where Jack was ever again. And Ianto would hold Jack to him, refusing to let anything bad happen while they were together. Jack would laugh, return Ianto's hold with his own strong, muscular arms keeping them together. And he would kiss him all over his body, tell Ianto that he had missed him and that he was never going to leave him again. And then, Ianto would kiss him back, and tell Jack that he loved him and never wanted him to leave him ever again – and Jack would promise that he would never again leave. And Ianto would fall asleep, right there, knowing that everything was right and that he was back home where he belonged. In the arms of his captain.

But that wasn't what Ianto had found. No, he had found something that had killed his heart one cell at a time. While the rest of the team was scrounging through the main area of the Hub, Ianto had gone to check Jack's office – being the only other person aside from the captain who knew the combination to the safe. When everyone else was out of view, he took a moment to check downstairs, around Jack's disheveled bed. Ianto blushed, remembering that part of the mess was because of him. But then, there had been something he had found, and it had made the pain of being able to find Jack that much worse.

There, lying on the floor, was a simple, white envelope. It was thick, obviously containing multiple sheets of paper. The worst thing – it had Ianto's name scrawled on it in Jack's handwriting. Barely able to contain the betrayal he felt, Ianto had slid it into his backpack, swearing to himself that he would find some way to make it up to the American when he finally got him back.

He was still cursing himself when they found their way to some abandoned industrial building – likely one of the first places that the Toclophane had searched for them. Every one left Ianto alone for the most part as they continued to set up base camp. He just stood in the corner, his face to the floor and his arms crossed securely over his chest. Anyone who might have been watching him would realize after only a little while that the impossible was actually true. Ianto Jones, the stoic, dark London boy, was crying.

Oh, God. How could he have been that stupid? Ianto wondered, as he sobbed hopelessly in his dark fragment of the world. How could he possibly have overlooked something as important as that? When Jack had first disappeared, no one else had seemed exceptionally worried. But as soon as everyone else had left, and the only prying eyes on him were the Pterodactyl's, Ianto had searched all night for any sign of where his – where Jack – might have gone. He could have sworn he had checked everywhere. Except the one place that brought back too much pain for him to bother checking: around Jack's cot. How many times had Jack commented on it, saying that was the only place in all of Torchwood he really trusted people not to interrupt? Ianto had given the room a quick glance over, before the loss made him have to leave. That was the one thing that had persuaded him to go with the rest of the team. If Jack hadn't left a note, then what were the chances that he would actually BOTHER coming back? All that he had holding him here was Torchwood. Ianto scoffed. He had less than that. After Owen – after all of them – had betrayed him, was it any small wonder Jack had left? The only creature he probably still cared about after that was the pterodactyl, and probably the Weevils. Ianto laughed quietly, trying to still some of his tears.

Jack was like that. He would be willing to gun down anyone or anything that was harming someone he cared about (even if it was just for the fact that they were "normal" humans, and he thought they deserved a chance to live). And yet, at the same time, he would send three rounds through anyone's skull who harmed or even just looked down on another living creature. Ianto knew how much pain it had put Jack through to deal with the situation with the Weevils – how those people had treated them, just because they thought that the aliens were different. Wasn't that the same problem that the world was in right now? Wasn't that why the spheres were so willing to just slaughter tens of millions of human beings? Because they looked different? Hadn't the world gotten over issues like that, segregation, sexism? Wasn't that what nations had made their pride and joy: acceptance, open policies? And yet here the world was, being torn apart by the very things that they had almost eliminated.

As he just stood there, Ianto realized what it really was that enraged him about the whole situation the planet was in. What made him angry wasn't what was happening now, or how far humanity had devolved. No, he had spent too long working for individual torchwood institutes to be disturbed by that. What was making his blood froth over in pure, livid rage was the fact that humanity had practically walked into this hell, thinking that they were going to somehow be rewarded. Why had anyone even voted for Saxon in the first place? All that Ianto could remember of his campaign was that he wanted to put even more crap up in orbit, and Jack said he had a bad haircut. So why had the landslide majority voted for him, when the man didn't even graduate college?

"Hey, Ianto!" Owen called over, shattering his train of thought. "Can you BOTHER doing something REMOTELY USEFUL for once and help?"

Weary and defeated, Ianto nodded, silently pacing his way over to where Owen was trying to move an I-Beam by himself. His thoughts could wait until everyone else was asleep. Ianto glanced over his shoulder, hesitant to let his gaze leave his backpack. Just like his thoughts, Jack's letter would have to wait until he was alone.

_Time lapse_

Ianto's eyes scanned the room, checking to make sure that no one else was watching him. He listened to the almost silent breathing coming from each of the huddled forms lying on front of him. Once he finally managed to convince himself that all four of his fellow survivors was soundly asleep, Ianto opened his bag, pulling out the thick envelope he had found earlier. Tears stabbing at his eyes, he slit open the paper, drawing out four individual sheets. He just had time to read the first two lines, before all rational thoughts were dispelled by grief.

"_Ianto,  
>I want you to know that I Love you."<em>

Ianto blinked, biting his curled knuckles and staring off at a far wall. How could he have never known? The papers slipped weakly from his fingers, landing softly on the floor near his foot. Ianto clutched his knees to his chest still tighter, in some way trying to squeeze the liquid from his soul. He sobbed, alone in his pain, Jack's words still ringing through his terrified mind. "I might not be coming back, so don't wait for me." How could he not know when or if he was coming back? How could he be unsure whether he would be returning to the life – the man – he claimed to love so much? Why would Jack put him through that?

Remembering how Jack had said one thing a thousand times, Ianto sighed, fingering the one object he had been left with by his Boyfriend. Though, was he still satisfied with that? After bickering within himself for what felt like hours, he rolled his shoulders, holding the small trinket between his fingers. In the weak, glinting light, the metal shone in his dilated eyes, prompting the same spheres to be swallowed by tears once more. How many times had he wished for this very thing? And now, to have it be given to him at the moment it would scar him deeper, more permanently, than at any other time in his life – was it possible that God could be that unsympathetic?

Ianto grimaced, clutching the gift once more in his tight, protective grip. Sometimes during the next month, he knew he would constantly wish Jack had just stabbed him. Flesh wounds he knew how to deal with; they would heal over with only the occasional bout of pain. But a gash this deep – He knew it was doubtful that he would ever feel complete again. The loss of the one person he loved more than anything was like an open, gaping wound slashed across his chest. It felt as though his heart had been ripped out of his ribcage, then place back in upside down, left to serve its purpose without any stitches or morphine to mend the wound.

Making his decision, Ianto sighed, opening his hand palm upward, so he could view his feeble reminder of Jack. Before anything else could cross his mind, he took a deep breath, calming his nerves. When he let the air out, his heart had settled back to its normal pattern. Without any further hesitation, Ianto slid the thin, simple ring over his finger. It was the last thing Jack had offered him in his inked apology. A life together.

He somehow managed to control the tears cascading from his eyes, steeling himself for what would surely be a deafening fight in the morning.

* * *

><p>The stranger groaned, watching the girl standing in front of him. Why did he have to be so weak? Why did he feel the need to make sure this worthless, puny, scrawny little morsel of a creature returned to her home safely?<p>

Without a word, he reached out, gently taking her hand. The girls' eyes went wide, making it obvious she had expected to get a different reaction from the man in front of her. She looked up, meeting his eyes, before dissolving into tears. The stranger smiled, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and leading her out of the alley.

"I'm sorry." The child sobbed, tripping over her loose clothing. "I – I didn't mean to spy on you. I'm sorry. I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

"Shhh." He comforted, kneeling down so he could meet her eyes. "I'm not mad at you."

The girl blinked, astonished at this revelation. He smiled softly at her, wiping her tears away gently with one finger.

"Then –wha – What do you want me for?" She stammered, clearly losing her control on her emotions. The man ground his teeth, trying to remember how he had first dealt with this. Someone new to take care of had always caused him trouble. He sighed, deciding the basics would be the easiest.

"Well, first, what's your name?" The girl stiffened, then relaxed, meeting his strange, crimson eyes once more.

"Br – Brandy." She managed, shivering against some omen. The man nodded, before posing his next question.

"Alright, Brandy. Where are your parents?"

"They're both dead." She replied, gazing off into the distance, as if in a trance. He blinked in surprise, standing up.

"What? Both of them?" She nodded. "So you're an orphan?" again, Brandy nodded confirmation. "So, who's taking care of you? You can't just survive on your own out here."

"The Gang takes care of me." Brandy responded, watching the stranger bristle at the name. Gang? A girl this young had already joined a street gang? Had he somehow gotten it wrong, and he was in the 18th century?

"It's not what you think!" the young girl assured. "It's a group of survivors. We all lived through the first attacks. Sandy makes sure everyone's okay."

The man visibly relaxed, sighing in relief. Alright, so the kid was being taken care of by – wait. Had she said SURVIVORS? He glanced around, confused. This was Utah. There hadn't been any major attacks in this area for decades, and wouldn't be for at least, he glanced at the device on his wrist. There shouldn't be any attacks in this area for another century. Shivering away his confusion, he looked down at the child again.

"Brandy? Where is the Gang?" he asked, noticing her spine clench. "I need to take you home. You shouldn't be out on your own this late."

"They'll find us." She responded, starting off in a random direction. "They always do."

The man sighed, running his fingers angrily through his hair as he followed her. God, why did this always happen to him?

'Dove, I swear. If you sent me to the wrong coordinates AGAIN, I am going to come back there and personally throttle you. Damn it.'

Just then, two objects descended from the sky onto the pair. Brandy screamed, calling out to him.

"Toclophane!" she shrieked, pointing at the hovering spheres. Immediately, he spun around, yanking his sidearm from its holster. He had known that it would be a good idea to bring it.

But before he had a chance to aim the weapon, someone yanked both he and Brandy into a narrow alleyway.

"I told you not to go wandering off!" a woman's voice hissed from next to where he knelt on the damp pavement.

"Sorry." Brandy muttered, curling into a ball across from the two adults. The man turned to see who had grabbed his arm, and was surprised to meet a pair of bright brown eyes meet his. A small, young woman sat on the ground next to him. She blinked, grinning at him.

"I see our little Brandy here got herself an admirer! I can tell ya' one thing, the kid works fast." He nodded, the only response his adrenalin fueled mind could fathom. The woman's accent was similar to his, though a little stronger. Maybe that would help.

Drawing his attention back to reality, the newcomer realized – with no small amount of regret – Brandy was rapidly telling their new companion how he had just appeared. Great. Just what he needed. Curious village people.

"So." The person next to him sighed, glaring at him. "It seems we've got a new member to the gang." With that, she lowered the assault rifle she had previously been holding up, offering him her hand. "Hey. Sandria D'adria. But everybody here just calls me Sandy."

Ahhh. He nodded, shaking her hand. So this was the (Slightly) infamous Sandy he had only heard one sentence about.

"So." Sandy began, Nodding at him. "What's your name stranger?" He opened his mouth to respond, swallowed by memories of the last time he had made introductions to someone. Ironically, that had taken place in an alleyway as well.

'_The brick walls shifted. Before my eyes, where there had just been barren concrete a moment before, now sat a dazed young man dressed like a confederate soldier. My eyes widened as he stood up, leaning heavily on the wall._

"_Oh, Hi." He suddenly snapped me back to reality, still weak on his feet. He approached me, glancing back at the alley. "You didn't just see that, did you?" I shrugged, opening my mouth before I realized it._

"_Weirder things have happened." I laughed. _

"_Yeah." He laughed, smiling broadly. While the rest of his face was covered in dirt and grime, his teeth had somehow managed to stay abnormally white. "Hey, I'm Captain Jack Harkness." He introduced, offering me his hand. Meekly, I took it, smiling softly in return. I pulled the dog tags I always wore out of my shirt, holding them up for him to read._

"_Christopher Finnian." He read, raising an eyebrow. Then, he met my eyes, as I covered up the last porting of the name with my finger. Jack smirked. "I'll take that as a 'you can call me Chris'." He looked back up for confirmation. I nodded.'_

"I – My Name's Brad." He lied, smiling at the woman glaring at him. It wasn't the first time he had changed his name, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be the last. "No last name. Just forgot it, I guess."

"Alright then, Brad, No last name." Sandy grinned, casting her eyes over his curled body. Suddenly, she grabbed the sides of his head, forcing their mouths into contact. She released him a second later, but the action had already been done.

"what the hell was that for?" The man newly re-named Brad asked, resisting the urge to crawl away.

"Well, we might very well die. So, if I do…" She trailed off, standing up. After Brad followed her actions, he beamed up at him. "I wan'ed to die knowin' I tongued some'un as cute as you!"

He shrugged, mildly shocked as he pulled his gun back out. He probably should've been used to random people kissing him by now.

"Well, then, in that case…" He swallowed, pushing down memories that were welling up on him. He had come here to do one thing. But that task could wait until he knew at least these two were safe.

Now, it was Sandy's turn to be surprised, as he reached down, grasping her shoulders and kissing her – hard. A second later, he released the dazed woman, grinning. She gazed up at him, apparently stunned at his behavior.

Brad just smirked, cocking his sidearm as he left the two of them in the alleyway. If anyone was going to be dyeing today, it sure as hell wasn't going to be one of those two.

The Spheres approached him as soon as he left the shelter of the wall. They spun towards him through the air, extending what looked like thin knives from slits in their undersides. He rolled his shoulders, waiting for one of them to come within firing distance.

His wrist computer beeped, prompting the objects to stop their observation of him. Just as he had suspected they would, one came at him from each side. In the corner of his vision, Brad noticed each was starting to extend some kind of weapon. It was probably a lazer, and DEFINITELY not supposed to be in the TWENTY FIRST FREAKIN' CENTURY.

"Brad, Dove, I swear. I'm gonna kill you two when I get back." He growled, only slightly embarrassed he had "Borrowed" his friend's name.

Sandy screamed, urging him to actually do something. One sphere came closer to him than the other – just barely over an inch, but it was enough.

He spun around, landing two shots at the object's weakest point. The sphere fell, but he had no time to retrieve it. The other machine sliced through the air, clearly intending to intimidate him into surrender. By the time it had gotten close enough to do him any physical damage, gravity was controlling that one's descent as well.

The mysterious spheres lay on the ground, not moving. Sandy stepped out of the alley, holding Brandy behind her. Brad glanced at each of the metallic objects in front of him, before pivoting to face the girls. Sandy Just stared at him, enticing a flush of red to claw up his neck.

"Wow." She gasped, gazing wide eyed at the round creatures at his feet, clearly dead. "NO ONE has been able to kill even one of those things!" the woman returned her astonished, praising gaze to him.

"I told you he was magic!" Brandy whispered, grinning at the man before them. Sandy laughed.

"Yeah, I'd say he is."

Brad glanced up, debating whether to continue to focus on his shoes, or accept their worshiping smiles. His blush deepened when Sandy grabbed his hand, dragging him with them. Well, he must've gotten into the Gang.

_Time Lapse_

Brad Sighed, glancing around the vast, open warehouse the Gang called home. Just under fifty open, dirty, expectant faces stared back at him. Sandy relaxed back against the wall, having finished her story.

"Alright." Brad groaned, walking his eyes around the room. "Let me get this straight… About a month ago, Brittan's new prime minister, who didn't even go to a proper college, decided to announce that he had made contact with an alien race, whom he called the 'toclophane'. Those would be the sphere thingys outside, right? Okay… um, and then he apparently murdered the President, tore open what everyone described as a 'big freakin' hole in the damn sky that was red and would make you throw up if you stared at it too long', through which thousands of the so called Toclophane came. Then, he apparently has some guy named the Doctor held captive, even though the man tried to stop him, made the man really old and apparently is a bastard husband. Umm… and the spheres killed off one tenth of the population because he asked them to? Apparently, they think it's … uhhh … fun? So now he – oh, yeah, the egotistical SOB decided to change his name to 'the Master' – claiming to be a lord of Time, has put the remainder of humanity to work building rockets so he can do what? Attack the rest of the UNIVERSE? I heard you right when you said that? Damn it, where the hell are the judoon when you actually need the little bastards?"

Sandy looked at him strangely, so brad decided it would probably be best if he ended his summary there.

"Yeah." She nodded, glancing around the room at her numerous gang members. "That's our hell of a life in a nutshell."

Brad groaned, beating his head against the wall. He hated being stuck in an area where people were fighting. It was supposed to be a simple enough task. Find the little SOB he was looking for, tongue the bastard, then drag him back to the 48th century where they could do something. But he was trapped here for the moment.

"alright, Everyone!" Sandy called out over the roar of whispers. It had become apparent to Brad that she was the chick running the show here, no matter what anyone else thought. "It's time to go to bed. We're gonna' be doin' target practice in the morning, and I don't want anyone's freakin' Head blown off this time! Ya' Hear?"

There was a chorus of 'Yes!' and more than one 'oops,' as the group readied for bed.

"But not you." She snapped, facing Brad. He froze, half-way though turning on his wrist computer. He could have just left again, as easily as he came. But he couldn't – not really – not after seeing these people fight for their lives.

"Yes?" He managed, his voice only trembling a little. Then, he met Sandy's eyes. They were cold and calculating – but there was something else. Something that definitely shouldn't be there in a superior who wanted to be obeyed. Brad almost laughed out loud, as he saw desire race through the girl's mind.

"Look, sorry, MAM," He sassed, pulling one knee up to his chest. "But I'm not interested in anything other than keepin' some of those people," He nodded towards the huddled group, "From getting' shot. Hear me?"

Sandria nodded, looking too amazed to speak. He sighed, running aggravated fingers through his hair once more.

It was still new to him. Provided, Brad and Dove had given him their assurances that this was a typical 21st century hair style, but he just didn't see it. Half his hair was its normal length, about three inches long and cut as it typically was – it looked like crap because he had done it with a hunting knife without a mirror present. But the other side had actually been done by someone else.

He had let his friends cut his hair, so that only one inch of black strands remained on the right side of his head. Then, because having mismatched hair wasn't bad enough, he had let them dye the now cropped side of his head the exact same color as his eyes – Bright freakin' blood red. God, if this went at all badly fir him, he was gonna go right back to where he had started and scream a piece of his mind at the two of them.

Bard shook his head, watching Sandy from across the room. Unfortunately, he knew what it was like to be sending love out to someone who wouldn't – or couldn't, in his case – accept it. She was cute, but she wasn't the person he was looking for.

Slowly, one he was sure no one was watching him, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. The links of chain wrapped around his right arm clinked together gently, as he opened the photo.

"I'm still lookin'." He stated, gazing with a deep passion into the eyes transferred onto the paper. The ink had never done them justice, always capturing too much of the black or too little of the grey, somehow tingeing the blue with just the slightest bit of regret.

"And I won't stop." He promised, feeling unwanted tears well up in his eyes. He would never stop, Ever. Not until the man he was searching for was found, and he had heard it from his mouth.

Brad would never leave until he was told, once and for all, that he was unwanted.


	3. Letters Left for the Survivors

AN: Hey, everyone! Yeah, I'm still here. sorry this took WAY too freakin' long, but my Beta deciced i didn't need her anymore, and BAILED on me! (*cough, cough* Alice *Cough, cough*)

Anyway, hope you enjoy. Please reveiw. I have a spacer chapter comming up, so if ya' wanna' see Ianto dye his hair green, that would bee your chance. NO HATERS (ahhh! don't blame me! the plot bunny is an alien and I am it's mind puppet!)

Anyway(mark2): this is the "mysterious letter" that Jack wrote Ianto. youo can skip if you like, but i can guarrantee you WILL have to read it eventually.

* * *

><p>Letters Left for the Survivors<p>

Ianto,

I want you to know that I Love You. More than anything else I have ever seen, heard, or felt, I love you. My glorious, beautiful, amazing hold on society. There isn't much I can tell you about how you've helped me work through my millions of problems that you don't already know. But I can try. Just, before I even start, I need to warn you – I wrote this letter months, maybe even years ago. There's a reason it's dated from July. But I doubt that anything's changed. If anything had monumentally changed, I wouldn't have left this where you would find it. If anyone else asks about a letter or note, I won't expect you to tell them about this. I won't hold you to be responsible for passing on the things I'm about to tell you. And if Gwen asks, or if she doesn't believe you when you won't let her read this, then I officially give you the authority to tell her to do one thing – Go to Hell.

I hope that the team won't fall apart because of what I've done. I supposed I should have left some kind of instructions for when this time came, but I was just afraid. Making plans meant it would really happen. Ianto, if I could pick anyone to lead the team, it would be you. But I don't want that weight to be on your shoulders. No matter what happens, I won't expect you to step up and take leadership. Stand by Owen, and make sure tosh remembers to smile. That's all the orders I'm leaving you. Owen's the next in the chain of command, so I won't be disappointed if you let him take care of things. Though, there is one person I would rather not have running Torchwood. Gwen. Yes, she'll fight everyone tooth and nail for control, but that doesn't mean she knows what to do when she gets there. Ianto, don't let Gwen take over – she doesn't know what she's doing.

Still, I've been avoiding the major thing I wanted to tell you. I guess I've always wanted to tell you in particular, because you would be the most affected by it. You won't show it, no, you're too strong for that. That's one of the things I always did love about you, you're ability to appear blank and impassive on the outside, while on the inside, I know you're screaming. But you'll be torn up – it hurts me more than anything else to know that more than one of your precious, unpredictable nights will be spent in tears over what I've done. What I'm going to do, and how it will affect the people I've somehow grown close to. It seems miraculous, that I would still be able to care about anyone after so long; let alone fall in love with them like I did with you, Ianto.

And I've had SO long. Ianto, the records won't show this, and the computers won't either, but I'm older than I look. I blocked my file on the computers – I'm the only person who knows how to unlock it. Not even Owen can read any of my past mission reports. It isn't just that I would be ashamed of everything I had to do – that I willingly did. I have a secret, and it has to do with why you're reading this, and not having me tell it to you directly. Ianto, if you did see my file, I can guarantee you would notice something strange.

The first assignment would be dated from 1802.

That isn't a numerical mistake. I first joined the Torchwood Institute Cardiff in 1802. I was twenty five at the time. And I haven't aged since. Ianto, I can't die.

But oh, gods, I've tried. Over three thousand times I've been shot, dismembered, stabbed, crushed, poisoned, beaten, slit open, impaled, suffocated, drowned, starved, dehydrated, drugged, abused, burned, and ultimately, killed. And each and every time I finally think that the world could have no more use for me, I wake up. Sometimes it's seconds later: other times it's minutes.

I'm still not quite positive what's wrong with me, but I am intending to find out. All I'm sure of is that it started a long time ago. I was staring down three of the aliens we were fighting at once. Then, my side arm ran out of bullets. So I just threw it aside, and waited for them to shoot me. And they did. Ianto, I died, just once. But then, I opened my eyes, and I was still in the exact same place. Somehow, I had come back to life. And I've been unable to die since.

Sometimes, I actually managed to enjoy the prospect, never dying. The ability to help others, without having to worry about having my brains shot out. Well, at least, not permanently shot out. I can do such wonderful things. Walk into the line of fire, survive and care for others for days without eating, go for weeks without sleep. I've fought in three of the biggest wars of the past two millennia, and can still talk about some of the experiences. However, other memories, I can't even touch them. I try to tough it out, to just tell myself that it's in the past, but I don't think it works that way. Some nights, I wake up screaming, though I can't remember what was happening in my mind to scare me like that. I remember from last night, you might not, but I do. I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was you, holding me and telling me that there wasn't anyone there that wanted to hurt me. I can't start to understand how much I must have scared you, shrieking like that. And I can't begin to thank you for it.

It's always been my worst fear, to wake up from a nightmare only to find that no one was there. That every one left me for something else. I can understand why it would happen, why everyone I know could just walk out on me. I really don't deserve any second chances.

And yet you keep giving them to me. Ianto, one of the things I will never comprehend about the human race, or about you in particular, is your ability to still be near me, after all I've done. I know that part of it is you not having full knowledge of what I've done in my life. I wasn't what anyone would call a model citizen, even in my own time. I'm not talking about the 1800s when I say my own time, Ianto. I mean the time I was born in. Almost three thousand years in the future.

You see, Ianto, I was born in the fifty first Century, AD. The reason I have no records documenting my birth or family is that my lineage hasn't even started yet. When I was young, my family and I lived in the Boeshanne Peninsula. It's a thin, arid strip of land that will form off the coast of Texas in about, one or two millennia. We all moved in when I was six, my mom, dad and me. Soon, not only were we fully integrated into the small community of daredevils to live in such a lifeless area, but my parents were about to add another number to the group. When I was seven, ten months, three weeks and two days old, my little brother came into existence. Unfortunately, it all came falling down around me.

When I turned twelve, humanity went to war. We had actually started it, but the government was too far in denial about the past to bother trying to mend things in the present. One day, the other race came down from the skies. I was fourteen. In one horrifying, terrible day, I lost both my Father, and the little brother I had cherished for seven years. What makes it worse, is that his death is my fault. My dad gave me one order when the attack began – to keep Grey safe. But his hand slipped out of mine just as I started to pull him towards the shelter of a hollowed out tree. Then, when the dust cloud finally settled, I realized that he wasn't there with me.

My mother blamed me for it, for losing my baby brother. We were lucky. Out of a town of over a thousand people, only about a hundred were left. Later, we found out it was closer to eighty. I searched for the rest of my life for Grey, hoping – praying – that by some miracle he was still alive. When I was eighteen, I dropped out of school, enrolling in the Time Agency. I wasn't interested in policing the timeline, as much as I wanted desperately to go back in time and find Grey.

Ianto, I won't make you live through all of the horrors I endured, all of the blood I got on my hands while I worked for them. The most I'll tell you is that the Time Agency is my time's equivalent of torchwood London. Only a thousand times worse. Instead of confiscation, their goal was eradication. If someone or something didn't belong in their accepted version if the timeline, then it had to be gotten rid of as fast as possible. Then I met the doctor. And my life changed forever. Meeting him is what made me into the freak I am today.

But it's not my past that's driving me to do this. It's what has happened in the present. More specifically, Ianto, You. Little Ianto Jones from Torchwood One: The Kid who just couldn't stay away. Damn, I swear, I could feel my heart bleeding the second I laid eyes on you. You, just standing there, holding that branch like a steel pipe, and glaring with a fury I didn't realize was created yet. Whether you believe it or not, I couldn't sleep that night. I lay in my bed for hours, just waiting for something to knock me out. But it never came. And don't blame it on me getting shell shock from having my neck torn out, because that's all too common. Well, for me anyway. It took over a hundred years, but I had finally found someone who made it impossible for me to sleep at night.

Ianto, you riled my entire world of existence the second you stepped into my life.

I swear, no matter how angry I was, I would have never pulled that trigger. Gwen asked me about it later, whether I actually would have executed you or not, and she thought I wasn't capable of it. Gwen thought I never would have shot you, or anyone else if they had been in your place. But the truth is, Ianto, that assumption was only half correct. I would never have been able to shoot you.

If it had been anyone, EVERYONE else in your place, I would have. Because that's who I was trained to be. A soldier – eliminate any and all threats without emotion. But not you. Never you, Ianto. You are just too sympathetic. The second I met your eyes, I realized that this was your test. Lisa was your test of Humanity – and I was the one you thought would be the best subject. I was so angry at the time that I didn't notice, until I thought back on it afterwards.

Only you managed to get me to care about people again. Everyone else thinks that it's Gwen, with her miraculous female charms, making me see things differently. Everyone is wrong. I had started to change before Gwen started questioning how I worked. More specifically, three months before. When I hired you. You see, Ianto, it's just too hard for anyone to make me feel like they understand who I am – or the choices I make. So when you immediately accepted the first choice I made, it made me curious. So I tried to figure you out. Typical, the one person that I could potentially connect with turns out to be hiding a cybermen in my basement.

This is going to sound strange, but I swear it's the truth. That one time we went out to the country, there was only one person I was really worried about. You. I know, if I was any good, I should've been worrying about Gwen, or Tosh, or even Owen. But you were the one I couldn't stop thinking about. Repeatedly, I would tell myself that we had bigger problems, but then I would somehow convince myself that they were fine. Gwen had Owen taking care of her gunshot wound, and if she could yell at me, the chick must be feeling better. Owen knew what he was doing. This wasn't his first catastrophic field mission, and for however much he bitches and moans, he's still a damn good doctor. And while Tosh looks defenseless on the outside, she really is anything but.

But You, Ianto, were the one I just couldn't stop thinking about. I never managed to forgive myself for being so thoughtless. I sent you and Tosh, the two least trained field agents on the team, off alone together. I should have known better, should have sent someone else with you. So all that day, my thoughts were dominated by you. I couldn't help but be terrified by the thought that everyone might end up dead, but it was you I was most concerned about. I shouldn't have pushed you to come out into the field with us. And after the heartless comment Gwen made, seeing your reaction to Lisa's death, I had to change something. Even while I was telling Owen that you and Tosh would be fine, inside, I was screaming.

I was terrified, that you would die, before I had a chance to say it. Before I had a chance to apologize. For Lisa. I should never have even tried to get you to do that. To shoot her. It was cruel unnecessary, and heartless. The one thought that was cursing my mind the entire time was the thought of you dying, cold, alone, bleeding out on some strange, barren floor, thinking that I hated you. I never hated you. Yes, I was mad. You had hidden an invasive alien in the Hub. Yes, I was hurt, that you hadn't thought you could trust me. There was no way for you to be able to tell if the emotional inhibitor had been activated during her conversion. Maybe, I might have been able to shut it down, give her back the control of her feelings. Unless, the same thing happened that did last time. The last time a cybermen had their emotional inhibitor shut down, it killed them. There's just no way to know what might've happened. I can only hope that you'll forgive me for not telling you this sooner.

Ianto, maybe they'll tell you that I just ran off. Or that WE didn't mean anything. You mean everything to me. I'm hundreds of years old. Once two centuries evolve around you as you just breathe, time loses its meaning. Oh, gods, Ianto, I'm so old. Over two hundred years have passed me by, as though I wasn't even there.

Living forever isn't a blessing. It's a curse. The worst curse that anyone can bear. Watching everything you've worked for, everyone you've ever known, turn to dust before you so much as get a grey hair.

And I'm sick of it. Ianto, I'm sick of living with the fear, the feeling that the two of us are screwing around with borrowed time. I'm sick of knowing that one day, I'll have to live knowing that you're trapped in the morgue, death refusing to let you continue your life. And that's why I'm leaving. That's why I'm not telling you this in person right now. I need to find answers, but most of all, I need to find a solution.

I want to be right.

I'm leaving. That much I am absolutely positive of. I don't know when I did, or how you handled it, but I am sure that I will have left. It used to be that I just wanted to be with the Doctor again, traveling around the universe. But now, since I have you in my life, I don't want to just be satisfied with what I am. I'm wrong. I should be dead, not still walking around here.

I want to be alive again.

Ianto, I'm leaving, but not for the reason's I had two hundred years ago. I want to be mortal again. I want to be alive. I want to be able to tell you I'll love you until the day I die, and actually know when that day will be. I want to be able to spend my life with you.

I don't know if this will even work, if there's a chance that the Doctor will be able to fix me. But I'm willing to give it all on a shot in the dark. For all I know, I'm stuck like this. I want to try. Though, I can't delay what I've wanted to tell you since I started this letter. There are risks that come along with me doing this.

I might not come back exactly the same. I could be different: Older, Younger, thinner, more scarred. I might have my behavior changed as well. I could act differently, or speak differently. Or, I might not remember anything at all. I might not come back at all.

I might come back in a body bag.

I'm sorry Ianto, but I have to tell you this. There is a chance that I won't come back at all. You see, what I'm asking is for two centuries of time to be spun back off my life. That's twice the standard life time. I was twenty seven when it happened, when I died. So, if the time starts to affect my body again, I might just keel over. There's a very good chance that the person who'll be coming back to you might not be a person at all. But I'm willing to risk it.

I'm willing to risk everything for the chance to give you the life you deserve.

I hardly have anything at all I can offer you, but I can at least try. Ianto, I loved you since I met you. And the time I've been blessed to have with you, has been some of the best times of my life. I love you. I love you more than anything I remember. I absolutely adore you. I'm willing to try to give up the one thing that kept my alive long enough to meet you. Sometimes I cure the fact that I can't die. However, I have to be thankful for it, because if I had just stayed dead like I was, I never would have met you. Ianto, if you're willing to take it, and not have any regrets about it, you can have this.

Ianto Jones, the only person I'm coming back for; will you marry me?

I know that it isn't much. I'm sorry that I couldn't do this in person, but I'm just terrified that I'd burst into tears if I tried to tell you all of this. If you want it, then you can have it. I'm sorry that the ring isn't much, but I thought of you the moment I saw it. Discreet, subtle, and yet somehow irresistibly attractive. Exactly like you.

If you want it, you can have it. When – If – I come back, and you're wearing it, then I swear I will keep up my half of the deal. I'll stop sleeping around. If you want, I'll even stop flirting. I won't so much as blink at anyone else. But if you decide you don't want it, I'll respect that. I won't bring it up, or even ask about it. If you just don't want me anymore, then I'll respect that. I won't hold it against you, or hate you. I won't bring up anything about our relationship, if you don't want me to.

But I need you to promise me something. If nine months pass, and I still haven't found my way back, forget about me. I want you to forget about anything I've said, and find someone else. Find someone who makes you happy. Happier than you could have ever been with me. Please, do it for me. I can't live thinking that you're waiting for me, when I might not be able to come back.

I love you Ianto. Forever and always, I love you.

The curse of Forever,

Jack H.


End file.
